


Sibling Rivalry, Part Two

by completelyhopeless



Series: Two Circus Birds [17]
Category: DCU, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Some Humor, made up science that probably doesn't work, though really the boys' approach to dealing with ptsd is not healthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 09:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3129314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completelyhopeless/pseuds/completelyhopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick has gone off the radar, worrying Alfred and Barbara and angering Bruce. Clint takes a break his life as an assassin to get Dick back to normal. Enter Jason Todd and a new Robin, and Dick finds there's no going home again.</p><p>Or the split between Batman and Robin and how Dick ends up Nightwing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Absence

**Author's Note:**

> In discussions with [Shanachie,](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shanachie/pseuds/shanachie) I've started to wonder if maybe I am trying to include too much in this universe. Having to have all these details about what happened to get the boys to the moments I've had in my head from the beginning, the ones later on when they're friends and full grown heroes. I have this tendency to know more of the backstory than can ever go in the real story, to know all the points from when things start to when they reach the story I'm writing, and part of the reason I never finish anything is that I have too much backstory and can't get it into the plot.
> 
> Not true of all stories, no, but this one might be one of them.
> 
> Still, I do think it's kind of important to know how Dick became Nightwing and why he split from Bruce. Though I was right about it being long. I finally decided it needed to be split into chapters again. I hate that, but I had to force myself to break so that maybe I can get something done outside the circus bird universe.
> 
> And I have a whole bunch of reasoning as to why this plays out how it does, but I think I'll put that in the notes for the next chapter or at the end.

* * *

“Master Bruce, you have to calm down,” Alfred insisted, and Barbara winced. She knew the butler meant well, but she also knew that Batman was not in the mood to be calm. This was what they'd all been dreading since Clint left. She had hoped it wouldn't happen, but she had known it would.

It was inevitable. Bruce's laying down of the laws had seen to that.

“Dick just needs some space. Some _time.”_ Barbara corrected herself. “You know that. You said it yourself when you took him off active duty with the team and forbade him from going on patrol.”

Alfred made a noise in his throat. She shouldn't have said that, not like that, not if she wanted to get Bruce calmed down before he tore apart Gotham and then the world looking for Dick. She thought of the email she'd gotten, a short one that wasn't that reassuring. _Babs, please don't worry about me. I ~~won't~~ can't be in contact for a bit, but I'm okay. I'm with a friend._ She knew that Alfred must have gotten something similar, but Dick hadn't contacted Bruce at all. She wasn't sure he dared.

“I benched Dick because he had no business being out there when his head wasn't in the game. He couldn't handle it,” Bruce said. “I told him to stay here so that he would be safe. He's not safe out there.”

 _Dick was fine when he was with me,_ Barbara wanted to say. _It was_ you _he had a problem being around._

She grimaced. This was so like Bruce, but so wrong for Dick. What he'd needed the most after Clint left was his role as Robin, and he'd lost that. The damage Scarecrow had done was bad enough, driving a wedge between them again, but Bruce was going to make it permanent with the way he was handling it.

“Dick would contact us if he was in trouble,” she said, believing that with everything she had. The email proved he wasn't just abandoning them, that he didn't want them suffering or worrying. He just needed time. “He's not in trouble.”

“He will be,” Bruce said in his Batman voice, stalking away from them. He was going to disappear into the cave for days now, trying to track Dick through electronics or money, any way Dick might slip up and give Bruce an opening to drag him back.

Barbara's shoulders sagged. As much as she missed Dick, she didn't want him dragged back here like that. It wouldn't help anything. She felt Alfred's hand on her shoulder, but she couldn't take comfort from it. “Dick _is_ safe. We'd know if he wasn't.”

“Yes.”

She let out a breath. “Bruce will be even angrier when he realizes Dick's with Clint.”

“I fear, Miss Barbara, he already suspects that much, and if he does, it may be impossible for Master Richard to return.”

* * *

“You haven't said a word since I picked you up.”

“A word.”

“You are such a dick,” Clint muttered, shaking his head. He almost reached across the car to punch Dick, but judging from the way he'd sounded and the way he still looked, that was a bad idea. Even after Two-Face Dick hadn't been this jumpy. “You can stop being one any time now and tell me what's really going on.”

“I just need a place to crash where Bruce won't find me.”

Clint's hands tightened on the wheel. “Dick, if he hurt you—”

“What am I, twelve?” Dick demanded. “No, he didn't hurt me. He still has no idea how to deal with me, always thinking he can fix things by giving orders or locking me up for my own protection. He'd do anything to keep me safe, and I know that, but it still feels like a prison, like he doesn't realize I've grown up.”

“You left because you two are arguing over whether or not you grew up?”

“That's a dumb question,” Dick said, snorting. He kept his eyes on the window, not looking at Clint as he spoke. “I'm never going to grow up, so why would I argue about that?”

“I'm not in the mood for your jokes. I know you. I know something's wrong, and you did not call an assassin asking for help because Bruce was once again being a fail parent. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Babs would tell you I spread myself too thin. Bruce says it's PTSD. I'm not sure what Alfred would call it.”

Clint nodded. “Yeah? And what do you call it?”

“That I haven't felt like I could breathe for over a year and now I finally can.”

* * *

Bruce knew that he needed Robin.

It was never more clear to him than the moment when he almost hurt the kid trying to steal the tires off the Batmobile. He'd grabbed hold of the little punk, ready to throw him about like he would have some gang member or other hood. Only a child—a little older than Dick had been when he first him—and yet Bruce would have thrown him aside, given no thought to the harm he might have done to the thief.

The kid was attitude and anger, and he was nothing like Dick or even like Clint, but for some reason, Bruce ended up bring him home with him. The kid was a fighter, after all, and that was something Bruce could use. He could train it, hone it, and make it better.

He'd lost Clint and he'd lost Dick, but Jason wasn't lost. The boy might just have found his first home. That was what Alfred would say.

* * *

“Dick, wake up. Come on, you little liar. Wake up.”

“Wha... What?” Dick asked, forcing himself to sit up and rubbing at his head. “Clint? What is...”

“What's going on?” Clint asked, arms folded over his chest. He shook his head, anger getting the better of him. If Dick wasn't such a good old friend and hopeless mess, Clint would have picked up a bow and shot him. “Don't lie. Don't try and avoid the question. You've been here for months and still haven't managed to give me a straight answer about what happened that made you leave Gotham. And you're having nightmares every night. It's getting old. You say we're friends. Act like it and tell me, or I will get an arrow and put both of us out of our misery.”

“Don't tempt me,” Dick said, leaning back against the wall. “I honestly thought they'd stop if I was far enough away from it, but maybe there's no cure for this. Maybe I can't ever go back.”

Clint pulled a chair over close to the bed and turned it backward so he could lean on the back of it while he listened. “Cure for what? PTSD?”

“That's what Bruce insisted it had to be. He thought I needed to sit inside the manor and somehow that would make it so I was... normal again. Like I'd cracked under the pressure but I'd get over it. And I needed to be where he could keep me safe, of course.” Dick snorted. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Babs blamed it on the other stuff I was doing, that I was spread too thin, and she was probably right about part of it, but it just meant that Bruce thought she agreed with him.”

“About locking you up and throwing away the key? That doesn't sound like Babs. She fights. She doesn't take anything lying down, and she'd expect you to fight, too,” Clint said, folding his arms over each other and letting his head rest on them. “Never mind. I suppose that was Bruce's selective hearing.”

“Yeah.”

“So what happened? You gonna get that part out sometime this century or what?”

Dick pulled his knees up against his chest. “I... Scarecrow got a new, better fear toxin. It wasn't airborne that time. I still don't know how he managed to stick me with it. I don't remember being injected, I was wearing my mask, we knew who we were after so Batman had antitoxins prepared and we should have been fine. I should have been. I don't...”

Clint should have been sitting closer. He could have kicked him. “Stop blaming yourself for not being psychic and knowing all and instead get to what you saw when you got gassed that's got you so damned jumpy?”

“Bruce kills me,” Dick whispered. “Over and over, hundreds of times. It's just at night now, but it used to be any time someone said his name or he came near me. I'd see it. No, I _felt_ it. I _lived_ it. It was so real I could feel it. I kept looking for bruises and cuts and burns because when I first came back to myself, the pain was real. Sometimes he'd do it like the Joker would, you know, but without the laughter. Or like Bane or Killer Croc or any of the other villains, but it was always Bruce. Or Batman. Or both.”

“Dick—”

“He never touched me, Clint. I wasn't lying about that. It's all in my head, and I can't make it stop. I couldn't work with him, couldn't be Robin. I tried. I'd be fine when I was with Babs or the team, but if Batman spoke or his name got mentioned... Bruce finally said I was done. Benched. No more Robin until it stopped. It was like hell being in the manor. Everything reminded me of Bruce, and I couldn't do it anymore. I got the phone from Lucius and I took my bike and left. I thought I'd just call you and...”

“And what, go off and get yourself killed instead of asking me for help like you did?”

Dick shook his head. “I'm not suicidal. I can't figure out what's wrong with me because the toxin should have been out of my system months ago, all the tests say that it is, and if it was just PTSD, why isn't it Two-Face or Swordsman or my parents? Why something that never happened instead of what did? I have plenty of bad to relive. I don't need to invent it.”

“No, you don't,” Clint agreed. He considered for a moment, trying to decide what to do. He wasn't a shrink, and he didn't know chemicals to do his own tests but he didn't doubt that Babs had double checked Bruce's results. She cared enough about Dick to be sure he was okay. “You know what you need to do?”

“Lock myself up in Arkham?”

“Not funny. You know what they'd do to you.”

“Yeah.”

“You need to fly.”

Dick almost fell over laughing. “You know, no one else wants me doing that. They don't think that I can anymore. Because, you know, I zone out. A lot. And if I have one of those... out of my head moments while I'm flying—”

“You are Dick Grayson, damn it. You were _born_ in the air. You were probably even _conceived_ in it, not that I needed to know that about your parents, but it's true. You were always in the air. You think better that way. You live and breathe in it. You don't know who you are when you're not flying. All you've done since you've been with me is sit here in my safehouse and stare at the walls. I should complain about you being a lazy bum and not pulling your weight but you have money and pay your part of the rent. I could complain about you eating all the food but you don't eat. That's also not like you. Since when do you _not_ eat?”

Dick shrugged. “These... flashes, they don't leave me with much of an appetite. Especially not when it's the one where I get disemboweled.”

“There's seriously one where you get disemboweled?”

“More than one.”

Clint grimaced. “Maybe we should start by getting drunk.”

“Yeah, that's a _really_ great idea,” Dick muttered. Then he laughed. “Let's do it.”

* * *

Barbara stopped dead in the doorway, staring. She couldn't look away. It was like some kind of dream—she couldn't decide if she called it a nightmare or something from one of those nights where she'd eaten the wrong thing and had strange vision afterward.

“Bruce, who is that?”

The kid training with Bruce—and he was definitely _training_ —looked over at her with a suspicious frown. “Who's _she?”_

Bruce smiled, actually seeming amused. “Jason, I thought you said you were smarter than that. I believed you said you were even smarter than Batman. I'm sure you can manage a guess.”

The kid's nose wrinkled up like he just got a whiff of something foul. “No way. That's Batgirl? She's so... Well, she's kind of—”

“Don't finish that,” Barbara told him. It was for his own good. She didn't want to hurt him. She'd seen him fight before she'd found her voice, and she recognized that look in his eyes. A boy too old for his age trying to be tough and brave. How she could she miss that when she'd been good friends with two boys with that same look? “Bruce, we should talk.”

“Ooh, someone's getting it on with Batgirl,” Jason said, and Barbara almost forgot he was a kid pretending at being tough instead of someone tough enough to pound.

“Jason,” Bruce said. “Go to your room.”

“But I—”

“Go. Now.”

The kid looked like he was going to protest again, but Bruce's look finally made him give in, at least for now. Barbara would bet good money he'd be back trying to eavesdrop soon enough. She waited until he was out of the room before she folded her arms over her chest and spoke.

“What are you doing?”

“I don't answer to you.”

That was true. Bruce and Batman didn't answer to anyone, and not her, that was for damn sure. “Look, I know you have—you can't just go taking in another kid because Dick left. He hasn't even been gone for that long. You needed to give him a chance to recover, not act like... like he's dead because he chose to recuperate with Clint instead of here.”

“Hawkeye is an assassin. Dick knows better.”

“Clint is still his best friend. As close as Dick became to Roy and Wally, they're not Clint, and they can never be him. Those two have been through too much together,” Barbara said. “Dick turned to an old friend for help. That isn't something he should be punished for.”

“He went to a killer.”

“So you grab the first kid you find and start making him Robin? Don't you even remember _why_ Dick left? It wasn't because he hated you, wasn't because he was fighting with you or wanted to punish you. He didn't want to go. He stayed for over a year after Clint left. If he was going to choose sides, it was then, not now. Dick left because he had no other choice, and you know it.”

“Dick had a choice. He could have stayed here. Gotten therapy if need be—”

“When he was having a panic attack every time you got near him? What kind of a life was that? You wouldn't let him be Robin, wouldn't let him be who he _is,_ and you expected him to stay? You're the world's greatest detective. Stop being such an idiot when it comes to your family. You can't help Dick this way. Though I suppose it doesn't matter. You've gone and replaced him.”

“I could never replace Dick.”

“Really? Because it looked a lot like that was what you were trying to do with that kid. When he moved with his street fighting, you made him do a move that was more acrobatic. More like what Dick would have done. I know how much having a Robin matters to you, but you can't force that boy to be Dick, and you can't just give up on Dick like this.”

“I didn't give up on Dick.”

“Oh, yeah? Look me in the eyes right now and tell me you don't think that Dick is a killer, that he gave up on everything you taught him. You already assume that, you have since you knew he went to Clint, but you're wrong. If anything, Dick is going to make Clint stop killing, but you've lost them both now, don't you see that?”

Bruce gave her a hard, cold stare and said nothing. She shook her head. Maybe she'd try again later. She'd have to stick around to try and help Jason—not that he'd want her help—but she almost wanted to give up on Bruce like he'd given up on Dick.

* * *

“We,” Dick said, leaning back against the wall, “are never doing that drunk again.”

“Never getting this drunk again or never having a shooting contest while drunk again?” Clint asked, laughing as he lined up another shot. He almost fell over, and Dick rolled his eyes. Sometimes they were both idiots. “Clarify that, Boy Wonder.”

“My aim is lousy,” Dick reminded him. “Don't make me hit you because you know I'll miss. I can shoot batarangs and even guns but bows and arrows... There is something wrong with that.”

“You're just jealous.”

“Not me. Never.”

“Liar.”

Dick managed to laugh, closing his eyes. He'd been jealous plenty of times. Clint was right about that. He wasn't perfect. He'd wanted a brother and hated Barney for not treating Clint like he should have. He'd wanted Bruce's attention and affection the way he used to get his father's, and he wanted Alfred to act more toward him like he was toward Bruce. He'd wanted a lot from Babs, too.

“Do you talk to Barney anymore? He never so much as calls the house, so I'd have to go looking for him if I wanted to know he was alive.”

“Do you want to know if he was alive?”

“No.” Dick burped. “Sorry.”

Clint shrugged. “Honestly, it would be weirder if you were more determined to find in and wanted to be all... friendly with him after all he did to you. I do talk to him, but not much. I don't... I try and keep him out of all this. I don't tell him what I'm doing. He never wanted this for me.”

Dick didn't believe that, but he knew better than to say it.

“I'm on my own,” Clint said, sitting down next to Dick, bottle in hand. “Kind of sad, but you're the only friend I've got left.”

“Not true,” Dick said. “Babs still cares about you.”

“I missed her graduation.”

“You should have _seen_ her face when she got the card you sent her, though. Her smile was so big and beautiful. She was so happy,” Dick said, smiling at the memory. “All the other gifts she got for graduating, and she loved that card the best.”

Clint choked. “Dick, I'm not—”

“She was so glad to have proof you were alive,” Dick said. “It mattered. It mattered a lot.”

* * *

“If Dickie-boy was so damn perfect, why didn't Bruce just _clone_ him and be done with it? That's all he wants, isn't it? Some picture perfect clone of Robin. Something I'm not. Something I can't ever be. That's all I am to him. A poor man's Dick Grayson.”

“That is not the case, Master Jason,” Alfred said, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. He sighed. “Master Richard is not perfect, and Master Bruce does not see him that way. I fear he may never regain favor here.”

Jason rolled his eyes, and Alfred shook his head. The boy did not know how true the words were and how much they troubled him. He knew how Bruce felt about Clinton's work, and he knew that Bruce would only ever allow that child back into his home if he needed something from him, and it was doubtful even then. If Richard remained away much longer, if he stayed with Clinton, then he might become barred from this house as well. The child that had meant so much to Bruce lost because of stubbornness and misunderstandings.

Alfred had been in the army. He understood that sometimes there were choices that had to be made and lived with, and Bruce had always considered this a war for Gotham. Soldiers in a war sometimes—quite often, even—killed. Bruce's choice was not one that all could make, but Alfred still believed in the good within _both_ of the boys he had helped raise.

“He wants Dick back, though.”

“I hope he does,” Alfred said. “That does not mean I want you here any less, just as it did not mean I wanted Master Clinton here any less than I did Master Richard.”

“Clinton?”

“Young Richard's best friend. A talented archer.”

Jason folded his arms over his chest. “And this kid lived here?”

“Yes.”

“I've been here for _months._ I've never heard _anyone_ mention him before now. Not you. Not Bruce. No one talks about this guy. That's going to be me someday, when I get thrown out of here because I'm not the precious Golden Boy.”

Alfred sighed. “There is no Golden Boy. There never was. No one threw Master Clinton out. He chose to leave. He chose a path that Bruce disapproves of, and that is why he is not spoken of, though he is missed. It is, however, quite the sore subject with Master Bruce.”

Jason snorted. “Everything is a sore subject with Bruce.”

“Indeed.”

* * *

“What if I can't do it anymore?” Dick whispered, choking on the words and looking up at Clint in a way that Clint _never_ wanted to see again. His friend, his best and maybe last friend, despite what he said about Babs and Lucius and Alfred, was still struggling. Dick had been moving a lot more, actually eating, smiling and laughing—and he wasn't drunk, either—but he wasn't over everything yet. “What if I can't be Robin?”

Clint knelt next to him. “You will always be a hero, even if you're not Robin. Even if you have PTSD and nightmares, even if you never saved anyone again, even if you were _never_ Robin, you would always be a hero. You forget—you were one when we were still kids, saving me from Swordsman when I wasn't willing to admit anything was wrong.”

Dick grabbed him, crushing him in a hug. “Yeah, well, you're my hero, too, saving me from myself.”

“Get off me. We're not that sappy.”

Dick just laughed, not letting go. “I missed you when you were gone. We are _never_ going to let a year go by without seeing each other again. Ever. I don't care what we're doing. We'll arrange to meet. I'd say once a week, but that's probably too much for us. Once a month. And we should call each other. A lot.”

Clint laughed. “You think I'm going to agree to that with you clinging to me?”

“Maybe because you want me to let go?”

“Fine. We'll do this at least once a year.”

“This?”

“You know what I mean,” Clint said, ruffling Dick's hair until his friend reached up to stop him. “You and me and a city. Taking down idiots and pretending to be heroes.”

“Oh. That.”

Clint shoved Dick off of him. “Like we used to. Not... I'm not planning on killing anyone. You know I could stop them without killing them before. You have my word, Dick. As long as you're with me, I won't kill.”

Dick blinked. “I can't believe you thought I needed that promise. I already knew you wouldn't and that you haven't. It wasn't that. I still don't know if _I_ can do it.”

“No better time to find out, right?”

* * *

“You didn't tell me there were _two_ rogue birds.”

Alfred looked up from his tea, a faint smile crossing his lips as he recognized the agent now sitting down at his table. Lucius turned to him with a frown and a question, though Alfred did not believe that young Phillip had realized that he had interrupted anything. Not yet, at least.

“I was hoping the second one to be a temporary thing,” Alfred admitted, leaning forward to set down his cup in the saucer. “I am afraid you have not met Lucius yet, Agent Coulson. Lucius Fox, this is Agent Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D. At one time he acted as Master Richard and Master Clinton's tutor.”

“I thought the name sounded familiar,” Lucius said with a smile. “How many of your suits did they ruin in the end? They were having a bet to see which of them could destroy more of them.”

“I knew it,” Phillip muttered, shaking his head. “Those two...”

“Their antics are both hilarious and heartbreaking. Endearing and yet infuriating,” Alfred agreed, reaching for his scone. “What have they done this time?”

“The usual. Took down a gang.”

Alfred choked on the bite he'd taken. “Excuse me?”

Phillip shook his head. “You introduced me as Agent Coulson. I'm assuming that means that Lucius here knows what those two get up to when they're going by other names.”

“I fear that was not my cause for concern. You are quite correct—Lucius knows about the boys' extracurricular activities. It is only that—”

“They didn't kill anyone,” Phillip assured them both. “Hospitalized plenty, but no one's dead. It's like what they did when they were here in Gotham.”

Alfred frowned. “I still find that somewhat difficult to believe. Master Richard left his costume behind—Master Bruce insisted upon it.”

“That explains why there's another Robin running around Gotham when I know the real one is nowhere near here,” Phillip said, and then he stilled. “Grayson doesn't know about this kid, does he?”

“I am afraid not. His contact with us—myself, Miss Gordon, and Lucius—has been sporadic and minimal. He informs us only that he is improving and safe, always asking the impossible of us—that we not worry over him,” Alfred answered. He sighed. “I would not think him wrong in assuming that Bruce would have, at least at first, gone and dragged him back to us kicking and screaming. I do not believe that Bruce understood what Master Richard needed then—what he still needs, or he would already have returned to us—and I agree with his decision to remain out of reach, however much it pains me personally.”

Phillip nodded. “All the same, he'll be returning to a firestorm when he does come back.”

“You think he will?” Lucius asked. “Why wouldn't he stay with Clint? Those two were thick as thieves.”

“Barton hasn't killed anyone in the time since Grayson's been with him,” Phillip said. “He's off the grid. If he hadn't helped take down the gang, we wouldn't have known where he was. Still, I don't know that it can last. Sooner or later, he'll run out of money and resources and he can't turn down certain people without repercussions. If Barton goes back to killing, Grayson will come back.”

“I do appreciate you looking after both of them,” Alfred told him. “It is a relief to me to know they are well.”

“If you consider taking on the second largest gang in Los Angeles with just the two of them well, sure,” Phillip said. “They're great.”

“Is that where they are?”

“Where they were. They've moved on again. We're still trying to track them down.”

“When you find them, I have something I'd like you to give Clint,” Lucius said, and Phillip frowned at him. Lucius smiled. “I made further upgrades to his hearing aids and have a few new arrows he might like as well.”

“You're the one who makes the toys for Batman.”

“Some of them, but you should already know that as S.H.I.E.L.D. has tried to recruit me several times,” Lucius said. “The answer is still no, by the way.”

“Of course it is.”

* * *

_Batman's hand curled around his throat, and Dick struggled to breathe, too weak to reach up for Bruce's hands. He couldn't fight anymore. Couldn't do this. He was done. He'd just let it happen this time. He wouldn't fight._

“Dick.”

He jerked awake, looking around the room as he sucked in desperate air, trying not to let the nausea win. The room's outdated decorations didn't help. It was like someone had vomited the seventies onto the wall after a bad acid trip. “Clint?”

“Yeah, I'm here,” his friend said from the foot of the bed. “What's going on, birdy? That's the third one of those you've had in the last two days, and you were down to maybe once a month.”

Dick reached up and ran his fingers through his hair. “I think it's stress. Once I started thinking about going back, they started back up again.”

Clint nodded. “Makes sense, but you're never going to get over them if you don't go back. You'll just be running for the rest of your life, and you can't run from yourself.”

“Yeah.”

“Look, you _are_ better. You're back to eating everything, you took down a gang, you can fly again. You just need a few more pieces, and you know you can't get them here.”

“You trying to get rid of me now?”

“Yeah.”

Dick picked up a pillow and threw it at him. Clint just laughed.

* * *

Barbara sat down on the couch with her books. She didn't know a quieter or better place to study than Wayne Manor. Alfred was there with cookies, sneaking them in when she wasn't paying attention, and Jason was good for a distraction when she needed one, but mostly she got the silence she would never find on campus without the pressure of her home and the added bonus of the Wayne family library and the batcomputer.

She had just opened her first textbook when she heard the steps coming into the room. “Oh, no. Not now. Unless everyone in Arkham has escaped, I get an hour of uninterrupted study time. That was the deal.”

“Babs.”

She dropped her book. “Dick?”

“I didn't think you'd be here. I'm glad you are. It should make things a bit easier.”

She swallowed, forcing herself up from the chair. “I didn't know you were coming. I'm so glad to see you. I missed you—You've lost weight, but you were losing it before you left and I think your hair is longer. Oh, Dick, I am so glad you're back.”

He gave a shaky laugh. “I'm not sure I am, but I'm here.”

“Are you...” She didn't finish, regaining enough sense to rush over and hug him. She held on, needing to know he was real and not just some cram session induced hallucination.

“I'm okay. Really. Not a hundred percent, but a lot better. It wasn't easy, but I got my appetite back, found my balance again, went flying...” Dick laughed. “Nothing that unusual, really.”

“Dick,” she began, and he tried to protest again, but it wasn't the drinking she cared about—maybe she'd lecture him about it later, it was illegal, but Dick hadn't been a child for a long time—she had to tell him about Jason. “There's something you should know—”

“I know that sounds like I should have been able to do it here, but I couldn't. Not with Bruce.”

“While you were gone—”

“I took down a gang, crashed one of Tony Stark's parties—don't tell Bruce because we both ended up really drunk that night—” Dick stopped, and she felt him tense in her arms. “Who the hell is that?”

She should have said it first thing. She'd tried, but she hadn't gotten the words out fast enough, hadn't warned him. “Dick, this is—”

“I don't believe it,” Jason said. _“You_ used to be Robin?”


	2. Presence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick struggles to understand what happened while he was gone but speaking to Bruce goes badly. The boys end up with Lucius, and Jason goes to track them down. Clint and Dick decide he needs more training, and they give him some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it took a while, but I think it's finally done now. It took a lot longer than I'd hoped to get it all put together.
> 
> I'll put my reasoning behind this version of events leading up to Dick becoming Nightwing in the end notes. Not sure how coherent it is, but I had reasons.
> 
> I am no scientist, and so I just kind of made up something that sounded somewhat plausible and went with it in this section.

* * *

The kid would have been bad enough, but it was his words that made it that much worse. Dick had tried to prepare himself for coming back to the manor in every way he could—he'd driven Clint nuts with his attempts to figure out everyone's reactions and head off the worst of them—but he hadn't even considered this possibility. He should have, would probably even have _known_ if he'd been willing to look Bruce up in the news, but he'd avoided it after he realized it was a trigger just like hearing his name or being in his presence.

 _“Used_ to be Robin?” Dick asked, stepping back from Barbara and swallowing down his gag reflex. “Babs, tell me he didn't.”

“I was trying to tell you,” she said, and he shook his head, dodging her hand when she tried to reach for him. “If we'd had any way of getting in contact with you, I would have told you, but we couldn't.”

“Bruce would have tracked the number if I'd kept the phone, and I didn't... I thought he might use one of you to try and get me to come back, and I didn't—I didn't know any other way of doing this—it wasn't about deserting anyone or even—” Dick broke off, shaking his head. “And to think I agonized over whether or not I'd be able to be Robin again, if I could still do it. I guess I shouldn't have worried. I shouldn't have _cared.”_

“Dick—”

“I think I should go.”

“Good riddance,” the kid muttered, and Dick glared at him. He shouldn't blame the boy—it wasn't like he knew. He probably didn't have any idea what Bruce would do to him, what being Robin would do to him, what Gotham would do—no, he wasn't as idealistic as Dick might have been back in the beginning, when he thought he was a hero and going to avenge his parents by stopping all crime—but the new Robin didn't know the cost of it. Not yet.

When he did learn... Dick closed his eyes and let out a breath.

“It'll chew you up and spit you out, too, kid. Don't get any ideas that you're _better_ than me. You'll be lucky if you survive this—or Bruce,” Dick said, starting for the front door. He should have known that Clint's insistence on waiting out in the car for him was the right thing to do. He hadn't thought he'd need that, but now he did.

Clint would enjoy being the getaway driver, at least.

“Don't go,” Babs said. “Please, Dick. Even if you're not Robin, you belong here. We all miss you. Even Bruce, who won't say it. Please. Stay.”

“No.” Dick said, hating himself for disappointing her, but he couldn't stay for her or for Alfred. He would have stayed for Bruce, before, because he _knew_ what Robin meant to Batman. He'd done everything he could to get back because he knew he had a role to fill. He'd known that he was needed. Now he wasn't.

At least not here.

Maybe if he went back with Clint—he'd kept Clint from killing, right, so that was worth it.

“Master Richard?” Alfred's voice was full of surprise and a bit of happiness, and Dick swallowed down the taste in his mouth. He would puke before this thing was over. “I was unaware of your return. I can ready your room and make your favorite—”

“I'm not staying,” Dick said. “It's good to see you, Alfred. It really is. I missed you. I'm just... I can't stay. Excuse me.”

“Please,” Alfred said. “You can't have been here more than a few minutes. If you would just—”

“It's not that I don't want to see you. Or Babs. I did. I do. I just—I thought this would be hard because Bruce would be angry and it would probably set the whole thing off again after I fought so hard to get back from that, but now I'm here and he _replaced_ me. He told me I'd always be Robin, but he's got another one. I don't even know what to _think_ right now, but I know I can't stay.”

“I am very sorry you found out about Master Jason's presence this way, but you have not been replaced. Please, let us—”

“No.” Dick wouldn't run, but he wouldn't stay, either. He couldn't. He didn't want to hurt Alfred, but he couldn't do this now. If he stayed, things would get ugly. People _would_ be hurt, a lot more hurt than if he just left. “I will talk to you and Babs when I—later, I'll talk to you both later, but I have to go now.”

His hand hit the doorknob, and he yanked it open, almost to freedom when he heard the last voice he wanted to hear.

Bruce. No, _Batman._

“Where do you think you're going, Dick?”

* * *

“Nice!” Jason cried, rushing out into the yard after Bruce and Dick. “Batman's gonna kick the crap out of loser Robin!”

“Jason,” Barbara grit out, doing her own following, knowing that someone had to stop them, knowing that Alfred was with them. She didn't want anyone getting hurt, not even in words, though a part of her was both relieved and worried that it might end without her intervention. She watching Dick for signs of a flashback starting. He was close—had been probably from the minute he walked in the door, but he'd been back and she was so happy to see him that she didn't warn him in time. She should have prepared him. If she had, he might not have needed to run or worse.

“Stop following me, Bruce. I am leaving. Leaving now,” Dick said, sounding calmer than he should have been.

“You are not going anywhere, Dick. I can't let you do that.”

“Hello, you _replaced_ me,” Dick said, pointing to Jason. He shook his head. “I don't have to stay. I _won't_ stay. You are not going to keep me here.”

“You are not leaving,” Bruce insisted, trying to grab Dick, who reacted with his training from the circus, from being Robin, and dodged out of the way, flipping in another direction when Bruce moved again. “You cannot leave.”

“What, because you think I ran off and started killing so now the great Bat is going to bring _me_ to justice?” Dick shook his head. “You are so sure that you're always right, that you know everything, but you _don't._ Yes, I went to Clint. He's my friend, and I needed him. But I didn't kill anyone. Neither did he. The entire time I was with him, he didn't kill anyone.”

“You haven't changed anything,” Bruce said as he managed to get hold of Dick. “Just because he stopped for you doesn't erase what he did. It doesn't mean anything other than that he knows what you want to hear. You are staying in this house until I decide—”

An arrow hit the ground where Bruce and Dick were standing. Both of them jumped out of the way in time, but she lost track of Dick in the smoke because he kept moving. She heard another arrow cut through the air. Someone cried out, and she wasn't sure if that was Bruce or Dick, though she should have been able to tell them apart.

“Bruce!” Jason yelled, running toward him in the smoke, coughing when he got closer. Barbara went in after him, grabbing hold of Bruce and pulling him back out of the smoke despite his efforts to shove them off and do it on his own even though he couldn't seem to stand on his own. 

Something was wrong. The smoke hadn't done that to her or to Jason. 

“That archer tried to kill Bruce. I'm going after—”

“Don't,” Barbara said, taking hold of Jason this time. “That was just Clint protecting Dick. He never intended to harm anyone.”

“But Bruce said—even _Alfred_ said—that this Clint guy was a killer. We need to stop them.”

“No,” she insisted, daring Bruce to disagree with her. “Hawkeye doesn't miss. If Clint had wanted Bruce dead, he would be.”

* * *

“Ow. What the hell did you do?” Dick asked, squirming in the seat next to Clint. He tried to keep his eyes on the road, not get distracted even though he'd been worried ever since he had to drag Dick back to the car.

“Nothing that should have messed you up like this,” Clint muttered, frowning again. “It was a simple smoke arrow distraction followed by an EMP. The idea was to get you out and make it so that Bruce couldn't follow you.”

The car was silent, more silent than it should have been. Dick hit him, and Clint looked over at him, seeing the pain in his friend's face. “Idiot. You fried your hearing aids, too. You're lucky this wreck of yours doesn't have an electronic brain like most of them do now. Worst paid assassin ever.”

“It's not about the money.”

“I know,” Dick said. “Go to Lucius. Don't argue with me because you can't go on without hearing aids. You can't keep reading lips or we will crash. Go to Lucius. Now.”

Clint grunted, but he couldn't deny Dick's words, so he gripped the wheel tighter and drove.

* * *

“Nanotechnology.”

“What?”

Lucius came over to them, holding up a small vial and shaking it in front of their faces. Dick groaned, and Clint frowned at him. He shook his head, feeling stupid. They should have seen it. Him or Bruce. It made such stupid perfect sense now.

“Dick?”

“Scarecrow was in Arkham. With the Mad Hatter,” Dick began. Clint continued to frown at him. “Jervis Tetch. He's an expert at mind control technology. I think you missed out on the fun with him. He was before your time and then after it. I didn't know he had any expertise with nanotech, though.”

“It might not have been his expertise. With what Tetch could create, they wouldn't need it, just someone who had that know-how, and they'd have more than what they needed without anyone being the wiser,” Lucius said, and Dick had to nod. “Combine Scarecrow's knowledge of the fear centers of the brain and psychology with Mad Hatter's proficiency with mind control and someone else's expertise with nanotechology, and you have a perfect plan for defeating the dynamic duo.”

“Driving them apart,” Clint said, adding a few curses after his words. “You think these things were set up to trigger Dick when he was close to Batman. To Bruce.”

“Yes.”

“You think that's why none of Bruce's tests found anything before? The nanobots were dormant unless they were triggered? There were so many tests, so much blood taken—We should have found them before,” Dick said, wrapping his arms around himself. “I don't know how we could have missed it even if they are small.”

“They were likely passive and undetectable unless they were active. I found them because I was looking for something like them after what you told me about the arrow's effect on you," Lucius told them. "I don't think the nanobots affected you alone, Dick. I think that both you and Bruce were affected by them, just in different ways. You were being terrorized by them. Bruce was almost unreasonable in his need to protect you. He could have been acting out of a fear of losing you or a fear of you being harmed when you were out of his sight or reach.”

“Bruce was _always_ like that with Dick. Until he replaced him, that is,” Clint muttered, shaking his head. “I don't think that was the nanobots.”

“We don't know what they were doing to Bruce. What if I got more of the nanobots than he did? It would explain why my reaction was so extreme and Bruce's seemed more like him being... himself," Dick said. He let out a breath. “Lucius, you'll need to tell Bruce about this, but I'd like you to wait a little while. I don't want him finding me. I know the nightmares should be gone because the nanobots are gone, but I haven't tested that yet and I don't even know what to think of him bringing in a new kid to be Robin.”

“Should kick his ass is what you should do,” Clint said. “You know I'm right.”

“He's Batman.”

“You were _never_ scared of him before.”

Dick snorted. “Did you somehow forget the last few months? I was terrified of him. I had nightmares and panic attacks. I was a mess. You know I was.”

“That was the nanobots.”

“Keep being all nice like that, and I'll have to hug you,” Dick warned him, and Clint shoved him, so he did grab hold of his friend and wrap him up in a hug that he had no intention of ending any time soon.

* * *

“Lucius wants to test you for nanobots, sir, and I do think you should allow him to do so,” Alfred said. Bruce gave him a look, but the old man held firm. “I insist.”

“I don't need a test. I've been tested. I'm fine.”

Jason didn't think Bruce was _fine._ In his opinion, _none_ of them had been fine since the old Robin showed up. Babs was angry and mopey, and she hadn't been around much since Dick left. Maybe Jason was wrong and she didn't have a thing for Bruce but for this Dick guy. He liked Babs, but she had bad taste in men.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred said, moving in front of the batcomputer. “Lucius has postulated what I feel is a very credible theory regarding the recent difficulties you and Master Richard have experienced, and I think you should listen to him.”

“You mean Lucius knows where they are.”

“You are ignoring all that you do not want to hear, but you cannot ignore this. If Lucius is correct, the reason you suffered an injury when Master Clinton fired that arrow was because the nanotechology reacted to the electromagnetic pulse. It was acting to stimulate the fear centers of Richard's brain when he was in proximity to you. He had a near constant fear toxin in his bloodstream, and you were likely exposed to the same agent,” Alfred said. “You _are_ going to get tested. Immediately.”

Bruce grunted.

Jason decided to let them keep arguing. While they did that, he would find Dick and Clint, and he would stop them. He'd prove who the better Robin was— _Jason Todd._

* * *

“I think maybe I underestimated the replacement,” Dick said, looking over at Clint. “The kid actually found us.”

“Please. You almost took down Swordsman when you were ten. This? Not that impressive considering that as soon as Lucius told Bruce about his theory, he'd know we were still in town. That little imposter knew where to start looking. It was like we handed ourselves to him on a platter,” Clint said, shaking his head in disgust. They would have been gone already if not for the upgraded hearing aids that Lucius was making for him since his old ones were damaged by the trick arrow.

“True,” Dick agreed, studying the younger kid as he struggled with the arrows pinning his cape to the wall. Dick had a dangerous look in his eyes and something a lot worse in his grin. “Hawkeye, I think this little robin has a few gaps in his education that we need to fill in before he gets himself killed. I mean, at least I had you to teach me the dangers of the cape, used that against me every chance you got. Bruce hasn't shown him any of that. Obviously.”

“I don't know,” Clint said. He had caught the kid good because of the cape, but that didn't mean he felt like training him or helping Bruce replace Dick. “I'm not sure there's hope for this one. I mean, look at him. Cheap knock off suit, barely any acrobatic skills, and that mouth—he's just asking to be punched right and left.”

“Yeah. I don't even think Two-Face would have to flip a coin to decide that one.”

Clint frowned. “Dick, that's not funny.”

“Hey, if I can joke about what Two-Face, doesn't that mean I'm healed?” Dick asked, and Clint almost smacked him. He didn't want to joke about Two-Face. Ever. Swordsman was one monster, the bogeyman for both of them, but what Two-Face had done to Dick after Swordsman sold him off, that was different.

“The kid isn't worth it,” Clint decided. “Let's just go.”

“We're not leaving until Lucius is done, forget that. I want you to have all of your new toys before we leave,” Dick said. “Besides, I don't see Bruce learning from the mistakes he made with you and me, so someone has to help this kid. If we don't, no one will.”

“Babs.”

Dick hissed. “Yes, she'll try, but Bruce is never going to take her seriously. She's a woman. Bruce seems incapable of seeing women as anything other than what a playboy does, which is stupid and after Poison Ivy and Harley and Selina. He should know better.”

“You really are pissed off at him, aren't you?”

“He told me back when I lost my hearing that I would always be Robin,” Dick said. “Somehow, it's hard not to take this replacement thing personally. I know why he did it. I do, but understanding it isn't forgiving it.”

“So you want to take it out on the kid?”

“No. I just think that he needs more training. You know how Bruce is with anything touchy-feely.”

Clint could almost pity the new kid. “This is going to end badly.”

“It's us. It always does.”

* * *

“Over here, fake-Robin.”

“Fake-Robin?” Dick asked. “That's the best you could come up with?”

“I am not calling him Robin and Replacement is no better,” Hawkeye said, and Jason glared at him. He didn't want to call that guy by a name that belonged to a hero. He was a jerk, both him _and_ Dick. That guy's name suited him all too well. He _was_ a dick. Jason swore their idea of training was worse than everything Bruce had put him through in the six months before he let him become Robin, and they'd only had him for a few hours.

“I'm not really Robin anymore. You can call him that,” Dick said, getting a glare from his friend. He shrugged, but Jason could tell it bothered him a lot more than he was pretending it did. He didn't like Jason being Robin. That was why they were doing all this “training.”

“Doesn't suit him,” Hawkeye said. “Do we have to be done shooting apples off his head? Because that was fun.”

“You two are insane!” Jason said. “I'll get free and kill you both.”

“Do it, and Bruce will hate you forever,” Hawkeye told him, lining up another arrow. “Trust me on that—once you break that little principle of his, there's no going back. You can screw up in other ways, but if you kill...”

“Some birds weren't meant to stay in Bruce's nest,” Dick disagreed, shrugging. “It's not like he makes a good momma bird anyway.”

Hawkeye snorted with laughter, and Jason had to fight a smile at that image. Damn it, he could almost _like_ them, which was insane after what they'd done to him. He couldn't believe that he was thinking that at all.

“What else does a good Bat brat need to know?”

Dick stopped to think. “How to cope with being a hostage and what not to do when you're bait.”

“Again with that crap?”

“I'm not going to be a hostage. I'll never be one. I'm not going to get caught. Not like you.”

“Don't think it won't happen, kid. It happens more than you think or can prepare for,” Hawkeye said, tightening his grip on his bow. “And it'll cost you a whole hell of a lot more than you think.”

Dick moved his hands in a flurry, and it took Jason a minute to realize that was sign language. Both of them must have been fluent in it, because Hawkeye answered him back just as fast, and they kind of laughed, but whatever it was wasn't that funny to either of them.

“Clint lost his hearing when our school was attacked,” Dick said, and Jason frowned. “It wasn't even his school at the time. He was visiting me, and a gang attacked, took the whole school hostage, and we both lost at least part of our hearing.”

“And before he tells you that it's all his fault, he's wrong. He might have been Robin, but that didn't mean he had any way of knowing that the gang would attack the school, even if it was full of stupid rich kids—other than Dick and Babs,” Hawkeye said. “Point is, you can't predict everything. Doesn't matter if you're Batman or some stupid kid off the street.”

“He's right, little wing. You can't always know what's coming. You need a plan, but you also have to roll with the punches.”

“Little wing?”

“Hey, he's smaller than me.”

“For now,” Hawkeye said, and Dick elbowed him. “You know you'll never get that big. Little wing will outgrow Big Wing—”

“Nightwing,” Dick corrected. His friend stared at him. “It's from a story Superman told me when I was still a kid.”

“Superman told you stories?” Jason asked, shaking his head. Bruce barely let him leave the manor. He hadn't introduced Jason to any of the other heroes—Jason didn't count these two clowns as heroes—only Babs. “Yeah, right.”

“He thought he needed to distract me when Batman was injured on a Justice League mission. He didn't, but I let him think he did so he wasn't half as bad with kids as Bruce was,” Dick said, shrugging. “I'll tell you the story later.”

“There's not going to be a later,” Jason told him. He was going to get free and then he would kick _both_ these clowns' asses for this.

“Sure there is, Little wing,” Dick said with that insane smile of his. “Right after we take care of that down there.”

“Let me go,” Jason said as they hauled him over to the edge of the roof. “I'm not going down—Robin should be down there. I should be down there.”

“And you will be. Just not alone—here's something else Robin should know: how to work with a partner, not just a man who gives all the orders.”

“You don't have a costume.”

Dick smiled. “I've taken down gangs without one before. I can do it again.”

“Watch and learn,” Hawkeye said, taking aim. Jason was going to break that bow in half when they let him loose.

“That is the dumbest weapon ever. Who you pretending to be, anyway? Green Arrow?”

“Hello, Clint wears _purple,”_ Dick said, taking hold of Jason before jumping off the roof.

* * *

Barbara let herself drop down in the alley, knocking over the thug that had been stupid enough to try and get up from what the boys had done to him. She made sure that he stayed down, keeping a foot on his chest.

“Anyone want to explain this?”

“We'll let Robin do it. He can tell Batman, too,” Dick said, grinning at her from underneath a domino mask. He should have a costume, but his had been kind of usurped, and she didn't know what he would do now, especially not when he was calling Jason Robin.

“You know he's not going to be happy that you made off with his Robin and kept him for hours.”

“Oh, please,” Dick said, not losing the smile. “You know we didn't hurt him. If you really thought our little bonding session was a bad idea, you would have stopped us before, but you didn't. All we were doing was showing the new kid a few things before we go. You know Bruce won't teach him all he needs to know. He won't tell him, won't let him feel—this isn't much, but it's better than what we had. Can't let him go around with clipped wings. Robins are supposed to fly.”

“Dick,” she began, because a part of it was selfless and sweet and so very like him, but the other part was sad, watching him try and cover up the pain and loss as he gave away the role that had meant so much to him, as he took in Jason as his own, like he had Clint, despite the fact that Jason was replacing him. This had to be hurting him so much and yet he just kept giving. That was going to destroy him someday.

“If you're here, though, he'll be here soon which means we should go,” Clint said, taking hold of Dick's arm. “Now.”

“Not so fast, Hawkeye,” Barbara said, jumping over to catch him before he could drag Dick away. She wrapped her arms around him, holding on tight. “Thank you for the card, but it's not enough. I missed you. I worried about you.”

He pulled away. “I'm fine, Ba—Batgirl. Really. I know that what I've done—”

She put her fingers on his lips. “I still care about you. Remember, I knew you were a vigilante archer before we were even introduced. It didn't change things then, and it doesn't now.”

“I wasn't a killer for hire back then,” he hissed out, and she just squeezed him harder, looking over at Dick. He shook his head, signing quickly.

_Clint didn't kill anyone while I was with him. I still don't think he wants to do it as much as he thinks he wants to. And he's not making a lot of money doing it, either. I think he's only accepting contracts for men who are criminals. It's not great, but he's still not a murderer, not exactly._

“We have to go,” Clint insisted, pulling away from her. “Bruce will try and stop us—or at least me—and I'm not in the mood to fight with him today.”

“Why not? You idiots can shoot him in the ass again.”

Jason stared at her like she'd grown a second head. “You're joking, right? No one hits Batman. Not you two bozos.”

“Oh, no, it happened,” Barbara told him. “Bruce was furious.”

“He did it,” Clint and Dick said at the same time, pointing at each other. “Not me.”

Barbara laughed. “I missed both of you idiots so much...”

“We missed you, too,” Dick assured her, and Clint nodded beside him. “And I promise we won't be out of contact for _either_ of you, but we'd better go. Now. Before Batman gets done at Arkham and shows up here.”

Jason frowned. “How do you know he's at Arkham?”

“I didn't spend years with Batman and learn nothing about the way he thinks,” Dick said. “He had to stop and threaten Scarecrow and Mad Hatter because that supposedly would get him an answer about anything else they might have done to me. Or him. It's the only reason it was safe enough to take you on this little joyride, little brother.”

“I'm not your brother.”

Dick just grinned. “You keep telling yourself that.”

“Once Dick adopts you, there's no getting rid of him. Trust me,” Clint said, grinning at Jason as he shot off an arrow with a grappling hook.

“He's right.” Dick laughed. He hugged her and then Jason and fired off his own grappling hook, following Clint into the air.

Jason glared at the building, arms over his chest, shaking his head. “They're _not_ my brothers. They're...”

“You either love them or hate them,” Barbara said, smiling. She put a hand on Jason's shoulder. “Look, you might not like it now, but if you ever get in trouble, you will want those boys on your side. There is no one better or more loyal. They are the best brothers you could ask for.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn't asking.”

She laughed.

* * *

“Where are they?”

“Gone.”

Bruce looked at her, but Barbara did not back down. She kept her hand on Jason's shoulder and met Bruce's eyes, her mouth in a thin line. “I wasn't forcing them to stay. I don't care if that's what you think I should have done. You have a new Robin, and Dick is still finding his way. So is Clint.”

“Clint is a killer.”

“Not surprised,” Jason muttered. “Have you _seen_ what he can do with that bow? He's insanely good. He hit people without even _looking_ at them.”

“Hawkeye has good peripheral vision. He can use that to aim without seeming to look at what he's aiming for. It's an act. Nothing more,” Bruce told the boy. He turned to Barbara. “You shouldn't have helped them.”

“They were helping Jason, believe it or not.”

“Not.”

Jason looked at him. “Why don't you ever include exercises to make sure I know how not to let my cape be used against me in a fight?” 

“I do.”

“No, Bruce, you don't,” Barbara said. “You didn't have to with Dick because Clint did it all the time, so you didn't have to add it into his training, and Clint didn't wear a cape.” 

“He is a better Robin,” Jason whispered. “I thought he wasn't, that it was all talk, but when he fought those guys—no suit, no armor, no gadgets—he was a lot better than I thought he would be. I thought he was washed up, useless. Now I see why you thought he was so perfect.”

“Dick has eight years of experience more than you do and that is just the time he spent as Robin,” Barbara said. “He was raised as an acrobat and had a best friend who was the swordsman's apprentice. The two of them used to play and train together long before Dick's parents were murdered and Clint was almost killed. You grew up fighting on the streets. It's not the same. You shouldn't compare yourself to him. Or them. Just know that you are doing the best that you can do.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Barbara gave Bruce a look. She disapproved. Again. He did not care for her judgments. She did not have the right to tell him what to do with any of his Robins.

He grunted, giving the boy a nudge. “Do what you can. Now go practice.”

“Wait,” Jason said. “Did they really shoot you in the ass?”

“Damn it.” Bruce would see to it that _someone_ paid for telling Jason that story.

* * *

“You're not really going to wear that, are you?”

Dick studied himself in the mirror. “Well, it's not what Alfred would make. It's not close to it. It's definitely not what Bruce would choose. It's still flashy, but not like Robin, and I like the way it connects me back to my parents without waving a giant flag around and saying, 'look, here's the last of the Graysons and...”

He lowered his head, and Clint came over, touching his back. “What is it?”

“We should have taken him, Clint. Babs isn't enough. Bruce is either going to get that kid killed or damage him like he did us—and he still doesn't see what he did to us—and we shouldn't let that happen.”

“Dick, you are still putting yourself back together after what Scarecrow and Mad Hatter did and after finding out that Bruce replaced you. Get your own head on straight before you go saving anyone else,” Clint told him. “You know you won't just abandon him. Neither of us will. We will keep an eye on that little punk, keep him safe.”

“Is that a promise?”

“I can't believe you have to ask that.”

“He's not blood. He was a brat. Why should we do anything for him?”

Clint looked at him. “If Barney was in trouble and I asked you to come with me to bail him out of it or if I couldn't be there and asked you to go in my place, would you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you didn't need to ask.”

“I know,” Dick told him with a grin. “It's just... I like hearing it sometimes. Like having confirmation that the good guy I know you are is still in there.”

“I should shoot you.”

“Hugs first.”

“Get away from me, you freak.”

“Love you, too, Barton. In the most platonic sense of the words. You are like a brother to me so don't get any ideas.”

“Yeah, whatever. I pity anyone who gets stuck with you, Grayson,” Clint told him. “Still love you like a brother, though.”

“This is too sappy. Let's go shoot something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is, the flawed logic behind all this: 
> 
> I knew that something had to make Dick decide to split from Bruce and become Nightwing. However, in this universe, they were already off and on at odds and him growing older wasn't really a valid reason in my mind. Plus, I'd established how Bruce knew he needed Robin, how dangerous he was without him. Bruce knew it and so did Dick. That was what had me going, "Well, Bruce will never fire him and Dick won't leave." 
> 
> So, Dick had to be forced to leave, and the idea of fear toxin came to me, but I needed it to last. So... enter questionable science and nanobots and Dick ended up with a case of PTSD that wasn't real. Sorry, Dick. It was for a good cause.


End file.
